Carbon Copy
by tiflissa
Summary: He always finds her when she least wants to be found. HouseCameron. Read and Review, please! I'll give you cookies?


Title: Carbon Copy  
Author: tiflissa  
Rating: PG, I guess.  
Pairing: House/Cameron, mentions of Chase/Cameron  
Warnings: Spoilers for "Half-Wit". Other than that…I got nothin'.   
Summary:_I don't love him,_ she tells herself sternly, and lets herself believe it for an instant.

A/N: Fabulously beta'd by blueheronz and 2tailswaggin. -squishes them both and showers them with tea and cookies- Any mistakes or parts you don't like are mine. Please let me know what you thought! -begs-

* * *

She peers at herself in the mirror above one of the sinks and wonders how she became this person. The face staring back at her is familiar – as it should be – but there are changes that she isn't sure she likes. Her eyes are still that indeterminate color, a shade between blue and green that no one could ever pinpoint, but it's as if a thin layer of ice has glazed over them, muting their natural warmth. When did her eyes get so devoid of emotion?

Another glance at her reflection verifies that she's lost more weight than is healthy. Her scrutinizing gaze follows the structure of her face, noting that her cheekbones are more visible than they were a year ago.

The gray shade of her sweater washes out her face, making her look pale and drawn. It matches her general mood these days.

She knows stress (House) is the cause.

Her hands grip the sink as she regards herself. The chill of the ceramic seeps through her fingers and spreads to the rest of Cameron's body and her mouth wryly curves upwards. House is a better teacher than anyone realizes.

Speak of the devil. His stride is purposeful, powered by the cane gripped in his hand. It's his crutch in more than one sense. Her hands tighten slightly on the sides of the sink.

"You do realize this is a locker room, not a lounge." He regards the woman in front of the mirror, taking note of the haunted look in her eyes. She is chasing the ghost of herself. He knows that look; he's seen it in his own mirror too many times to count. He resists the urge to look away.

Whatever he wanted for her, it wasn't to turn her into a carbon copy of himself.

"Robert and I came in here for a quickie. Didn't think anyone would mind." Her delivery is flawless – bland, bored, and without hesitation. She meets his eyes, assuming his reaction will be the usual: nothing.

She's wrong.

Cameron had been a 'student' of House for three long years. Her observation skills could rival his by now. She catches the tightening of the hand that rests on his cane and the barely-there flash of that rare_something_ that she has yet to identify in his gaze. Without him needing to give voice to it, she knows that Chase-and-Cameron bothers him. Robert-and-Allison bothers him, too.

She's glad.

"Not at all. You could've sold tickets. After all, you are the hottest topic of gossip at the moment," he returns snidely.

Cameron raises an eyebrow, amused. "I thought the hottest gossip was about Cuddy and her secretary."

If he is surprised by her retort, he doesn't show it. Instead, he meets her gaze pointedly. "Were you planning on leaving any time soon? Or do the shower heads excite you?"

She's purposefully bland as she answers. "Not as much as hookers excite you." Cameron leaves the locker room, the faint scent of freesia and the unmistakable feeling of change lingering in the air. House watches her go, bemused by this new person. He can't read her, and he frowns with the realization.

It unsettles him, and he hates being unsettled by anything. Especially by Allison Cameron. He's never quite been able to figure her out. This situation is no different, yet for some reason he can't grasp, he's more discomfited by it.

The stench of a clinic patient's regurgitated lunch reminds him of why he entered the room in the first place, and he deliberately pushes Cameron out of his mind.

* * *

She is lonely, but she is starting to wonder if loneliness would be better than this. This arrangement with Robert was a mistake; she realizes that. She also knows she was desperate to simply _feel_ again.

Be careful what you wish for, she thinks as he kisses her. She feels his kisses turn to sawdust in her mouth. It takes more effort than it should to kiss him back.

* * *

They kiss in the hallway outside his office. House turns away, not wanting to watch, and deliberately not thinking about why. He taps his cane restlessly as he glances up again. She turns, meets his eyes, and frowns. He doesn't look away this time, instead focusing on the hint of sadness in her face.

Her eyes fall from his, and she walks away. She doesn't look back. She doesn't see his intense gaze following her, and the hand he scrubs over his face.

She runs a hand through her long, dark hair in exhaustion. The lounge is empty, for which she's grateful. It's been a long day, and all she wants is to go home and soak in her bathtub. She's still here because she knows that Robert will be waiting for her at home.

The steam rises from her coffee mug, making her glasses fog slightly. There is a magazine open on the glass table in front of her, pictures of smiling faces that she hasn't seen, along with an article she hasn't read.

Instead, she stares into nothingness.

Cameron starts at the sound of House's distinctive gait entering the room. Closing her eyes briefly, she wishes her lies would come true. _I don't love him,_ she tells herself sternly, and lets herself believe it for an instant. Her eyes open to the unsettling knowledge that her boss is staring at her, dissecting her. She allows a spark of anger to enter her eyes, and he smiles just a little, as if pleased by it. It's nothing more than a slight curl of his lips, but it's there, nonetheless.

He tries to ignore his swell of desire at the fire in her eyes.

"So."

"So?" she asks, clinging to that tiny ember of anger, and curling her hands around the coffee mug. It threatens to burn her skin, but she doesn't notice.

"You're not happy."

A snort escapes before she can catch it, and then she decides it doesn't matter. "You don't care."

He rolls his eyes, suddenly impatient with her. If he were honest with himself, he'd acknowledge the impatience is really directed inwardly.

House will never admit it.

"Oh,_stop_ playing the wounded puppy, Cameron." He blatantly ignores that she doesn't deny her state of unhappiness.

"Fine," she returns calmly, "if you'll stop acting like a five-year-old who doesn't want to share his favorite toy."

He laughs harshly, fueled by a jealousy he doesn't fully understand. "The 'toy' in this case being you, I assume? Well, not to rain on your metaphor – or is it a simile? I always get those mixed up – you are hardly my favorite toy. After all, I've never gotten to 'play' with you." On any other day, his words might have been tinged with a hint of playfulness. Today however, the only emotion tainting his words is anger.

She stands up suddenly, thrusting the coffee mug at him angrily, causing the hot liquid to splash up over the sides. "Yeah. And whose fault was that? Certainly not mine." She stalks from the room, leaving House with a burned hand, and the uncomfortable knowledge that she's right.

He hates being wrong.

* * *

She's hiding out in the chapel, the one place she knows people won't think to look. _Besides House,_ she thinks, before firmly pushing that incident from her mind. She doesn't want to talk to anyone, and she doesn't want to think about House.

It was painful to break up with Robert, and the entire situation is something she wishes she would have avoided. However, she knew that it had to end. The façade of happiness and contentment was becoming exhausting to keep up.

She laughs a bit hysterically. The downward spiral is staring her in the face, and she's hypnotized by it. The temptation to jump in with both feet is painfully present, and she wonders if she has the strength to resist it. She's so _tired._

The door opens, and she curses the fact that he always finds her when she least wants to be found.

"I find it incredibly ironic that an atheist repeatedly chooses to run to a _chapel_ when distressed." House's voice shatters her solitude. She barely glances at him, but what she sees makes her pause.

She's never seen him quite this awkward before. He doesn't think he's _felt_ quite this awkward before.

His eyes are darting everywhere and he's incessantly tapping his cane on the plush carpet, as if willing himself anywhere but next to her. He has no idea why he's here.

Cameron idly wonders how he expressed awkwardness before his infarction. Did he shift his weight from one foot to the other? Or did he shove his hands in his pockets? She suspects he was someone who tapped his fingers on any available surface.

She nearly cries at the thought of things she will never know.

"I find it ironic that you keep following me here." She's too tired to put any anger in her tone. Weariness is the only emotion that edges into her words.

He steps closer to the pew she's seated on and he sighs. Silence surrounds the pair, albeit a surprisingly comfortable one.

Finally, "You've given up."

House's voice startles her. "On what?"

He shrugs. "Anything. Everything." He still won't look at her.

She's tempted to ask why he cares, but she knows the answer she receives will be laced with sarcasm and insults. She doesn't need that now, so she refrains from asking, choosing instead to sit in silence.

Again, he breaks it. She sighs when he opens his mouth. "The hospital grapevine tells me you broke up with Chase."

"So?" She stands, wanting desperately to leave, but knowing he won't let her. At least not until he's finished with her.

"_So_ I'm sorry I missed it. Rumor has it that it happened in a horribly dramatic fashion. Better than "General Hospital"."

She crosses her arms and manages to look annoyed. "You'd have been disappointed." That's all the information she's willing to share. He takes a quick glance at her stony face and knows he'll get nothing more from her on that subject.

He shrugs. "Too bad."

"Why? So you could mock me a little more?" Her voice is weary, hardly able to hold the illusion of anger.

"No." Without another word, he pulls her to him almost roughly. Not enough to hurt her, but enough to be startling. She's about to ask what he's doing when he crashes his lips to hers.

Once upon a time, she thought his kisses would be gentle, a contrast to the man he appeared to be. Now, she knows better. Knows _him_ better.

He barely gives her a chance to resist, pressing his lips to hers harshly. Firm. Unrelenting. Devouring. Passionate.

Simply shocking her out of her defeated haze was what he intended. What he got instead was light years away from simple. His mouth moves over hers in a frenzy, attempting to punish her for pulling out a needle. She'd gotten the upper hand that time, and House hates not being in control. He's unexpectedly claiming her as his and – oh god - she's melting into him against her will.

Cameron does not want to love this man. Her mind taunts her with the phrase "you can't always get what you want."

But here she is, kissing him back. Of their own accord, her hands move to his chest, feeling his racing heartbeat under her fingertips. In response, the hand not gripping his cane moves to her neck, softly brushing his thumb across her soft skin.

Just like that, the kiss changes. It was still intense, but this was laced with an emotion that Cameron hadn't been sure he'd be able to express. House's eyes close and he moves his hand to brush against her cheek. The touch is soft, and she shudders because this is not what she expected. She lets one of her hands drift up around his neck and she plays with his hair. It's his turn to shudder, and he feels her smirk against his mouth.

He breaks away with a nearly audible "pop" and smirks unsteadily at her, trying to seem unaffected by their kiss.

Their eyes meet and she knows him better than that.

(But sometimes you find you get what you need.)

"Wombats don't kiss like that." He's a bit out of breath, but he doesn't let that stop his arrogance.

As usual.

It's not a question, it's a statement. Loaded. She grins a little – the very corner of her mouth quirks upwards – and she answers him anyway. "You are no wombat."

She's irresistable. He somehow knows he was doomed from the beginning.

He kisses her again, a bit gentler this time, taking everything she's offering; everything she is. She lets him. She always has and she doesn't see why things should change now.

After what seems like an eternity and an instant, he pulls away slowly. "Bring dinner."

In exchange for her everything, he gives her two words. It may not seem like much to anyone else, but to Allison Cameron, it's more than enough.

She watches him walk away, his gait easy and unhurried despite the limp and accompanying cane. House doesn't turn around to look at her, but she doesn't need him to. The corner of her mouth twitches in suppressed amusement, knowing neither of them has _really_ changed. The definition of them has, however. She has no idea if this thing they've started will last, but she lets herself enjoy the moment.

After all, she thinks, isn't that part of what life is supposed to be about? Small moments stringing themselves together in the shape of something to be remembered?

The cloud of despair that she's carried around with her is still there. One kiss doesn't erase months of emptiness, but she feels lighter and doesn't stop to question it.

She lets herself smile, determined to enjoy whatever small moments they create.

END.


End file.
